Kim Possible: Barkin's New Job
by LJ58
Summary: Steve Barkin lost his job at Middleton High, and is desperately seeking new work before he loses everything. Only the job he finds isn't quite what he expects.


_I do not own these orginal Disney characters, and am only using them for a tale meant for entertainment purposes only._

**Kim Possible: Barkin's New Job**

**By LJ58**

"Mr. Barkin," a curt, rasp of a voice barked over the intercom that morning, shocking more than a few students. "Come to the office. Mr. Barkin. Office. Now."

Steve Barkin frowned as he looked up from the grade book he was almost drooling in anticipation over as he prepared to give the little rabid monkeys in class what they truly deserved. He was a stickler for rules, though, so he closed the book, eyed the class balefully, and declared, "This won't take long, so behave until I get back."

He took three steps, stopped, and glanced back at the sniggering class.

"Prepare for your pop test on chapters five, six, _or_ eight when I return."

The sniggering stopped stillborn as Steve Barkin sailed out of the class with a smug expression, having crushed their spirits just a little more.

"Ms. Kowalski," he nodded at the aging secretary behind the counter as he walked into the office a few minutes later. "I was called…..?"

"Yes," the woman said as she peered up from behind thick glasses that made her seem blind. She nodded toward the principal's office. "In his office, Steven."

Barkin stopped at the door, knocked, then stepped inside.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Smith?"

The man looked up from a stack of files he seemed to be endlessly studying every time Steve saw him, and the man only adjusted his dark glasses Steve supposed were required for some eye condition.

"Yes, Mr. Barkin," the man drawled in his low, bland tone of voice that never changed. Ever. "Come in. We do need to speak. Yes, we do."

Steve Barkin walked in, stopped in front of the desk, and waited.

There were no chairs in Mr. Smith's office. He liked you standing. He liked you off-guard. It was part of why Steve liked him. He was a no-nonsense stickler for rules, and could tear a defiant teen apart with just a quirk of his brow behind those dark glasses.

"Steven," the principal finally spoke after just eyeing him a few moments. "You'll be glad to know that all our staff are finally back, healed, and whole, and ready to return to duty. That said, we don't need you any longer. You're fired," he stated in his precise, somber fashion.

"But…"

"I don't believe I was unclear, or confusing, was I, Steven. We don't need you any longer."

"But, aren't I still vice princi…..?"

"Steven, Steven, Steven. I found it….interesting that so many of our instructors had the same tale. You convinced them to go skiing. Or tour certain….trouble spots. You even convinced several of them to try the mystery meat," he said with a faint shudder of his own. "Now, I can admire innovation, when it works to our system's advantage. Not, however, when it undermines that system. Goodbye, Steven. Do close the door on the way out."

"But…. You still need a vice principal," Steve Barkin almost wailed, thinking of the endless parade of bills he had coming up soon, and knowing he was going to need a job to meet them.

"And I have one. A very promising young man named Thomas Anderson. I'm told he's got a unique way with children. Actually seems to….like them," Mr. Smith decalred in genuine wonder. "That, however, is not your concern. Good day, Mr. Barkin. And, goodbye."

Steve stared at the man who sat as if carved from stone, and slowly turned toward the door.

Fired.

Dismissed.

His virtual gravy train had derailed but good. No more overtime. No more bonus pay. No more pay.

This, he knew, was not good.

**KP**

Steve Barkin sat in his house, the lights out because his power had been cut off.

No money, no power. He still had water, but only that.

His next mortgage payment was coming up soon, and his pantry was distressingly close to bare.

He was going to have to find something, even if it were, and he shuddered now, fast food.

If he could find a place those snot-nosed kids hadn't taken over.

He sifted the papers, hunting the usual classifieds, and swore when he saw nothing he could fill, or even finagle.

Things were not going well.

Three weeks, and he had yet to find anything.

Then he saw a magazine laying on the floor with the bland statement, _'Need A Job_?' across one side amidst other ridiculous articles.

He frowned, picking up the gaudily colored magazine he had taken from one of his students, and had forgotten about until it spilled out of the box of personal effects he had brought home from his office.

No, no longer his office.

He frowned, eyed the query in _Villain's Quarterly_ again, and grimaced as he found himself seeking the page for the article for something called Henchco Unlimited.

Why did that sound familiar to him?

He frowned as he read the obvious fluff job offering anyone a second chance, and good pay, in a nontraditional service field that offered bonuses, promotion, and a chance to even run your own small country. He frowned, then realized the magazine had very serious classifieds in the back that ran the gamut from the usual personals, to genuine doomsday weapons for sale.

People actually sold those?

Then he spotted the ad the article referred to in the Help Wanted section.

Among the usual ads for various scenarios, the '_High Paying Temp Positions Available Now' _all but screamed at him. He pulled out his phone, grateful he had a few minutes left on it since the house phone was disconnected, and dialed the number.

"Henchco, how may I help you," a pleasant female asked almost at once.

No computers.

No waiting.

No silly hold music.

A real human voice.

"I'm, ah, calling about the Temp Ad you have?"

"And where in the world are you calling from, sir?"

"Uh, I'm in the Tri-City area in Denver," he said, not about to pinpoint himself, just in case of scams.

"Excellent. We have an open position in that region now. If you're willing to sign up as a regular temp, we can guarantee a sign-on bonus up front, and full health-care for a modest fee," the woman assured him happily.

"Uh, okay. How much is that bonus?"

She told him, and he gaped for a moment before he could reply.

"Where do I sign up," he babbled.

**KP**

Even Steve Barkin was astonished to learn just what Henchco was all about.

The up-front bonus, and benefits kept him in the introductory seminar, though, as he felt that huge check all but burning through his wallet as he signed every blank, and initialed every paragraph in the contract Jack Hench's people put before him.

He was going to make it after all.

And it wasn't like he was going to be hurting anyone. Not really.

Just filling in for a bunch of bumbling wannabes now, and again as a kind of 'evil temp.'

Evil temp.

As if calling the position evil changed anything.

He noticed everyone threw the word around describing everything, though. Evil this, evil that. They even had their own company approved clubs, and restaurants.

It was like an entire underground microcosm not unlike the military.

It was just devoted to madmen, and mad scientists with grandiose schemes, and little else so far as he could tell.

That was when he realized where he had heard Henchco mentioned.

Possible had used to complain about them back when she was still in school. Well, if the law had not shut the company down, he supposed they couldn't be that evil. Besides, a man had to work. Wherever that work were found.

For the next nine weeks, he had a very cushy job keeping a few lairs open, and operating, and some of the other Henches learned to fear him as he built up his reputation as a strict disciplinarian that followed all the rules, and kept things on a proverbial even keel.

His file even had several glowing recommendations.

Which led to the new job with a chance for a huge bonus, and even promotion.

He had to fill in for a name even he knew.

And ridiculed.

Dr. Drakken.

The man that once saved the world, though he couldn't seem to accomplish much else. Well, from what he had learned from the man's second, it wasn't going to take him long to handle this one. Drakken's lot were lazy, ineffectual, and could likely benefit from a little discipline. He's soon whip them into shape. And maybe even get a little of his own back at that Shego woman that had once….

Well, the less said of that, the better.

**KP**

Two weeks.

For two weeks, everything went wonderfully.

Even the sardonic, willful woman left behind by the blue-skinned loon who had apparently left to accompany his mother on some cruise followed him, and did as he said.

Professional to the last. That was something he could respect.

Her every gaze told him exactly what would happen if he crossed the line, though. Lars had warned him the last to try hitting on her was still in ICU. He was told that he didn't want to know what Shego had done to him.

Still, for two weeks, things went well. They even managed to pull off a few minor capers that let Shego put together some ploy of her own she had been working on in the blue man's absence.

Two weeks, and then things came crashing down with a single, stupid question.

"Where's Drakken," a lanky, glowering young man demanded as he burst into the lair at the side of a very familiar redhead just when they were about to launch the special satellite that Shego had been building all that time. Steve didn't know what it was for, but Shego had been determined to get it up, and ready before Drakken returned.

"Never mind that," Kim shouted, launching herself at Shego without hesitation. "Stop that rocket!"

"On it, KP," he said, and grabbed, and tossed an active stun lance he snatched from a Hench at a nearby control panel.

The console he struck exploded, and overhead, the huge, metal doors just starting to open slowly ground to a stop, and the smoldering engines of the rocket slowly began to cool.

"Don't just stand there," Barkin shouted at the gaping Henches as he saw their plan falling apart before their eyes, and his promotion with it. "Stop them!"

"Mr. Barkin," Ron turned to gape at him. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm filling in," Steve Barkin snapped at him, shoving a Hench toward Ron.

"Man, even here? That's just _so…wrong,"_ the biggest slacker he had ever known complained.

"Ron, just take care of business," Kim shouted, barely ducking one of Shego's plasma-laced punches, and dancing around as she evaded one Hench, put down another, and then turned to attack Shego again in earnest.

"So, you're temping for Drakken," Ron smirked now, the Hench that attacked him laying out cold at his feet after a stunning sweep and kick that had Steve's jaw dropping.

"Uh, yeah. I'm an evil temp," he said, feeling a little silly even now saying it.

"I remember the last evil temp I underestimated, and let go," Ron said with a hard edge to his voice.

Steve frowned as Ron turned, distracted by six Henches that attacked him in earnest, but to little effect as the usual bumbler he recalled kicked and bunched like an action film star until Steve's men were left laying dazed, or unconscious around him.

"Now, Stoppable," he said, putting his hands up.

"Say, Mr. B," Stoppable smiled, cracking his knuckles. "Did you get the full health-care option?"

"Uh, yeah," he nodded as the lanky man in black stalked him.

"Good," Ron Stoppable smiled now as Kim fought off Shego in the background. "You're going to need it," he declared, eyes glittering with blue fire as he leapt at the former bane of his existence.

_End…..?_


End file.
